Antipathy
by sanionka
Summary: Kurt faces his worst fears, but only in his worst nightmares


**Title:** Antipathy (1/?)

**Fandom: **Glee

**Characters:** Kurt Hummel, David Karofsky, Azimio (minimal), Finn Hudson (minimal), various McKinley High football players (minimal; Scott Cooper and Strando are mentioned, even though these characters aren't introduced until 2x11 "The Sue Sylvester Bowl Shuffle")

**Word Count: **1916

**Rating: **NC-17

**Summary:** Kurt faces his worst fears, but only in his worst nightmares

**Spoilers:** up to 2x08 "Furt"

**Warnings:** language, profanity, gore, etc.

**Created:** 1 February 2011

**Author's Notes:** …I just wrote this one night xD;; I have no idea what I was doing. Also, this is _technically_ my first fic, so please, constructive criticism is appreciated, though bashing is not. No, like anyone anticipating the return of Glee on 6 February 2011 after the Super Bowl, I do _not_ know the personalities of Scott Cooper and Strando, so they're completely made up. I simply know the names, and that they will appear as football players on the show.

Obviously, the notes above are really old. I ended up finishing the _typed_ version of this very late. The written version was rather quick, and of course some edits were made. While this fic represents David Karofsky in a bad light, I have a love for Max Adler's character, but what does _Kurt_ think of him? How badly did Karofsky screw with Kurt's head? That's what this fic presents.

The halls of McKinley High School emptied hours ago, leaving behind an eerie afterglow of the day's events; red slushy stained parts of a wall, some lockers, paled against the stark crimson, and the floor, the scent of strawberry accentuated its existence, becoming acrid as time passed. The many school clocks ticked away, revealing the time in every classroom: 4:29 PM. Kurt Hummel looked up from the piano at the clock in dismay. Glee had ended about twenty minutes ago, and he stayed behind to practice stretching his voice and working on his piano playing, specifically sight-reading. It seemed like a rational idea, until the halls had been squeezed and juiced of all life as everyone left for the day, leaving a rather uncanny air to rest on the shoulders of whatever soul bothered to stay behind.

"A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I'll sell them for a dollar, they're worth so much more after I'm a goner," Kurt sang, his voice honey-sweet, playing along on the grand piano. The song lyrics became unsettling as the seconds passed, a chill creeping up Kurt's spine. "Funny when you're dead how people start listening. If I die young, bury me in satin, lay me down on a bed of roses, sink me in the river at dawn, send me away with the words of a love song. The sharp knife of a short life." The ebony and ivory keys responded to Kurt's unconscious touch with ease, and faded into silent beauty. Kurt had extemporized most of the performance, amazed how much he was able to improvise when he wasn't sight-reading the sheet music, but it was a little odd. He let the unease slide off his shoulders into the smaller parts of his brain, deciding to focus on things that were more important.

Kurt shrugged into his designer jacket, one of the many in his gargantuan wardrobe, and gathered up his things from where they leaned against the leg of the piano bench. He ducked out of the choir room gingerly, looking both ways as he peeked his head out of the doorway, as if he were about to cross some formidable expanse of highway. Kurt made his way down the vast, dark hallways of the school until he reached the back entrance; this was the closest door to the school parking lot, where his Navigator was eagerly waiting for him. Sunset soaked the lot and the athletic fields in a scarlet blanket, making everything warmer. _Too bad it's the dead of winter,_ Kurt scoffed to himself as his boots crunched through the ice-like snow.

The acrid scent of perspiration sunk into Kurt's nostrils, making him cringe, and before he knew it, he was knocked to the ground of the parking lot, dizzy and confused. His bag had been thrown somewhere along the pavement, and his head was spinning due to the unmerciful injury he sustained when his head smashed into the asphalt. He groaned, not sure which was worse: the progressing pain, or the progressing numbness.

"Stupid homo," a gruff voice growled, and Kurt thought he recognized the voice as Strando's, one of the McKinley football players. _Football players?_ Kurt felt his chest tense in fear.

"Lady boy," he heard Azimio jeer.

"Gay kid," hissed Cooper. He imagined the large jock sneering.

"Fag." Karofsky. That last one stung the most.

Kurt's eyes were beginning to adjust to the dim light, moving around wildly until the glaze deteriorated, letting him see first blurred shaped and colours, then detail once more. Scott Cooper was the one who had pushed him down, and was the one holding his cleat-covered foot on his chest. _I'm never going to get that stain out,_ Kurt thought subconsciously, but remembered that his designer shirt wasn't the current issue at hand. Cooper let go of him with his foot and grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him up, only to have Azimio shove and pin him against the brick wall of the school while he was collecting his thoughts. Kurt squealed in pain, feeling the skin on his shoulder blades and spine peel open. He felt the pattern of the wall imprinting into his skin, and suddenly a fist smashed into the side of his face, leaving him on the ground again, bloody and queasy. He heaved himself onto his hands and looked in disgust at his scabby and dirt incrusted fingernails. He hadn't anticipated for his face to make such sharp contact with the asphalt, and trying to fight back only brought him more pain. Someone had kicked him in the ribcage, and he was coughing all over again, struggling to catch his breath. The control of his muscles was failing, and blood welled around him in a scarlet pool, making him want to vomit. Kurt clutched his stomach, squeezing his eyes shut in horror and pain as Azimio said cynically, "Your turn, Karofsky." Kurt only opened his eyes enough to see the looming shadow of the football player descending upon him.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the school parking lot, and was no longer in pain. He felt… _numb_. His vision was blackened, but slowly started to come to and create blurry colours and shapes, and he felt warm. Assuming he was inside, Kurt groaned, feeling around blindly at his surroundings, making contact with sheets. He relaxed. _Is this the hospital?_ he thought groggily, but in a hospital, lights would be blaring in his face; he'd probably hear all sorts of beeps going off, and he couldn't hear the voice of his father, who was bound to be arguing with a nurse about how this issue needs to be taken to court. What happened, anyway?

Before Kurt could figure it out, his bleary eyesight was beginning to clear up, but not before someone's rough, chapped lips smashed into his. Kurt's eyes shot open in terror as his brain processed his romantic pursuer: David Karofsky. _No!_ Kurt was taken off the bed and flung into the wall, pinned as he had been with Azimio in the parking lot. Karofsky's toothy grin was an attempt at beguiling, but Kurt desperately tried to break the next lip lock, bile rising in his throat with disgust.

"All I want is you, Kurt," he said lowly, and it was just occurring to Kurt that his shirt had been stripped off. "I want _all_ of you." Kurt's eyes tore away from Karofsky's as he savagely searched for his shirt around the room. Behind the dark shape of the jock was Kurt's Gucci sweater, bloodlessly strewn on top of the dresser, hanging delicately next to the wedding topper. Kurt gasped in revulsion, training his eyes on the figure with abhorrence. "No," he whispered as Karofsky balanced him on the wall, wrapping Kurt's legs around his waist. "No!" he screeched.

"What? Homo can't take a hit?" sneered Karofsky with malice. Kurt didn't know which reality was worse. Azimio lifted Kurt violently off the ground, holding his arms. Kurt squirmed, coughing and spitting as he did so, feeling the tears well in his eyes as he watched Karofsky tense his arm, preparing for the punch. "No!" Kurt shrieked, the salty fire of his tears pouring down his face. "Stop! He's going to kill me!"

"That's the plan," Azimio rasped in his ear. At this, Kurt fought more, but after the first blow to his stomach, he fell limp, unable to anticipate the next, but able to watch helplessly as the next punch came.

But it didn't.

Kurt had squeezed his eyes shut in fear, but when opened again, he found himself pinned by Karofsky, but not against the wall of the football player's room or the school. Kurt was trapped under the dense weight of the boy on Karofsky's bed. Karofsky's _bed_. No, this isn't what he wanted. He tried to escape under the larger boy's grasp, tearing his lips away as Karofsky moved to kissing his neck. Subconsciously, Kurt realized his jeans were unzipped, and all the blood rushed to his neck and face. "Stop," he said, Kurt's voice full of rancor and acid, but Karofsky was incessant. "I don't want this." It sounded like an erotic moan. "I said no!" Was Kurt drugged? His entire existence felt soft and fuzzy, feeling the edges of this reality seeping away until he could no longer move.

He choked up blood and watched it spatter around his feet, pooling in an unpleasant puddle under his boots. Kurt tried to purge the feelings of resentment, hatred, abhorrence… anything he felt at this very moment so he'd never have to remember again. He was numb all over, and he feebly lifted his head to watch his attacker come at him again, but it fell limply against his chest, feeling heavy under what little control he had. "Kurt!" Karofsky yelled, the name violent from the way his lips mashed together, but the voice was not his.

Kurt's eyes shot open to darkness, sweating and heaving. Regaining control of his body, he rolled compellingly out of the bed, feeling his bare feet meet the rugged floor heavily. "Stay back!" Kurt hissed, and in the darkness his hands found their way around the broom beside his bed from when he was cleaning earlier. He weld it like a spear, prepared to face off his tormentor. The lights flicked on, blaring in his eyes, and Kurt looked around furiously. This was… This was _his_ room, and Finn was in front of him, looking at Kurt through narrowed eyes, adjusting to the light.

"What the hell, man?" he yelped, jumping back and holding his hands up against the broom that was all too close to his neck. "What's with all the thrashing and yelling? Can't a guy get some sleep?" Finn looked exhausted, but Kurt must've looked worse because Finn stopped complaining, his irritated and slightly scared expression replaced with that of concern. "Dude, you okay? You're all white… like, more than usual, and you kind of look like you're going to vomit and stuff… And why are you threatening with a mop?" Kurt looked at his hands, his knuckles bone-white from his ninja grip.

"It's a broom, Finn," was the first and only intelligible response Kurt could think of at first. He relaxed, letting out a long breath, setting the cleaning utensil aside, and pushed his fingers through his now sweaty hair, his other hand resting tentatively on his waist. He tried to gather his thoughts, and he could only come to one conclusion: "Yeah, I'm fine, it was only a nightmare."

Finn gave his stepbrother a skeptical look before shrugging it off and heading back to his bed, too tired to care at the moment. He'd interrogate Kurt in the morning, if he ended up remembering to do so. Kurt dove back under the waves of his comforter, recollecting the nightly horrors he had just experienced. Realizing this must be his subconscious being terrified of Karofsky's return, he put the matter to rest. _I'll be in Dalton with Blaine first thing tomorrow. _ Before he rolled over and pulled the blanket over his head, he caught the dim light of his bedside clock. It read 4:29 AM.


End file.
